UPDATE When I was a little dorky girl growing up in Queens, N.Y., my parents would always give out gifts around Christmas to people they really didn’t know well in our community.
The garbage guy would get a big bottle of Whiskey. The mailman would get an envelope of, what I assumed at the time was, cash. And neighbors, tellers, and anyone else that crossed their path around the holidays would get Greek cookies — 
kourabiethes (an almond cookie with powered sugar on top), or 
koulourakia (a braided butter cookie.)
It always seemed to make my world a little smaller seeing my parents generosity and the reactions from people when they received a gift.
I asked my mom recently why they did what they did, and the reason was mainly about giving something special for people around them, and also those who toiled for them. The job of a garbage man was hard, really hard. And this was the one time of year they could say, “hey garbage man, we appreciate what you do.”
OK, I’ve adopted this tradition. I to make cookies for strangers and hand out gifts and cash. I think I bitch about it way more than my parents did because I never seem to have enough time to juggle everything around the holidays. But some how the cookies get baked and distributed.
I thought this is a good time to remind everyone out there to do something a little special for those around you who make your worlds the worlds they are, and for those that toil for you. I know, they get paid, but if you can get a card, or bake some cookies just to acknowledge you appreciate the work they do, why not do it.
It’s a tough time for many people right now and one little, tiny gesture of kindness really goes a long way.
That said, I wanted to share a great short story with you all that I recently read about Christmas that really touched my heart.
It’s “A Christmas Memory,” by Truman Capote, and it’s all about giving gifts to strangers. Take time to read it folks, I think you’ll all appreciate it.
And Happy Holidays everyone.
UPDATE
It’s been brought to my attention that even though Capote is dead his estate can still benefit from people buying his work. So, I am only including a brief excerpt below.
A Christmas Memory, by Truman Capote
Imagine a morning in late November. A coming of winter morning more than twenty years ago. Consider the kitchen of a spreading old house in a country town. A great black stove is its main feature; but there is also a big round table and a fireplace with two rocking chairs placed in front of it. Just today the fireplace commenced its seasonal roar.
A woman with shorn white hair is standing at the kitchen window. She is wearing tennis shoes and a shapeless gray sweater over a summery calico dress. She is small and sprightly, like a bantam hen; but, due to a long youthful illness, her shoulders are pitifully hunched. Her face is remarkable—not unlike Lincoln’s, craggy like that, and tinted by sun and wind; but it is delicate too, finely boned, and her eyes are sherry-colored and timid. “Oh my,” she exclaims, her breath smoking the windowpane, “it’s fruitcake weather!”
The person to whom she is speaking is myself. I am seven; she is sixty-something, We are cousins, very distant ones, and we have lived together—well, as long as I can remember. Other people inhabit the house, relatives; and though they have power over us, and frequently make us cry, we are not, on the whole, too much aware of them. We are each other’s best friend. She calls me Buddy, in memory of a boy who was formerly her best friend. The other Buddy died in the 1880’s, when she was still a child. She is still a child.
“I knew it before I got out of bed,” she says, turning away from the window with a purposeful excitement in her eyes. “The courthouse bell sounded so cold and clear. And there were no birds singing; they’ve gone to warmer country, yes indeed. Oh, Buddy, stop stuffing biscuit and fetch our buggy. Help me find my hat. We’ve thirty cakes to bake.”
It’s always the same: a morning arrives in November, and my friend, as though officially inaugurating the Christmas time of year that exhilarates her imagination and fuels the blaze of her heart, announces: “It’s fruitcake weather! Fetch our buggy. Help me find my hat.”
December 24th, 2008 at 7:17 pm
Thank you for the story and reminders, Eve. You know, those powdered cookies look just like the ones we called “snow ball cookies” — I loved them.
Merry Christmas,
Pati
December 26th, 2008 at 10:38 am
It is the season of giving - and from a careers perspective - this is a great time to give to the members of your professional network — those you know well and those you don’t! Most jobs are filled through network connections and the most successful networkers are givers. They build their personal brands by adding value to the members of their networks. So putting a plan in place now to think about your network every day and regulalrly give to it’s members will ensure a strong network. And you will feel great about your generosity too!
Best.
William
www.williamarruda.com
December 27th, 2008 at 2:50 pm
Truman Capote may be dead, but his estate is not. When you publish stuff that is not your copyright, you violate the law and you take money out that person’s (or heirs’) pocket. Having had this happen to me a number of times, I am always surprised at the “so what” attitude I get when I call someone on stealing my work. I expect to get the same from you.
December 27th, 2008 at 5:14 pm
You are right Lore. I have removed the bulk of the story and only included an excerpt. It’s published on the Internet in so many places I assumed it was now public domain.